


This'd be a real good time to hold my hand

by Nemesischaris



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Animagus, Depression, Discord: Bellamione Coven, Discord: Bellamione Cult, F/F, Rituals, Room of Requirement, Soulmates, Underage - Freeform, a tiny bit of fleurmione, canon up until POA, just in case
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23289604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemesischaris/pseuds/Nemesischaris
Summary: Prompt:  Hermione, after a particularly nasty bout of teasing on top of General depression as she matures, stumbles across an old forgotten spell in the RoR that will apparate you to your soulmate’s side.  Casts it, finds herself in Bellatrix’s cell in Azkaban.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 60
Kudos: 529





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dreamkissed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamkissed/gifts).



> So, this happened.  
> I have no idea where it is going, but my brain really wanted to write this instead of the Dishonored AU... So here we are.  
> I hope you guys like it.  
> I don't own anything.

Urgent footsteps echoed in the empty corridor on the seventh floor as Hermione paced in front of a blank wall. She needed a place to hide. She needed a place to sulk and not be bothered for a couple of hours. She needed a place that will grant her the warmth and safety that she is currently missing. She looked up after the third pass and a small tired smile tugged on her face. She approached the plain wooden door that wasn’t there a second ago and pushed it open with shaky hands. 

Once again, her one true companion had not disappointed her. She first read about the Room of Requirements in _Hogwarts: A History_ back before starting at Hogwarts _._ She remembered the excitement of learning that magic was real and the urge to learn everything about the Wizarding World and the school she would be attending. She devoured the book in a matter of days and tried to commit everything to memory. The Room was casually mentioned in a short paragraph about the tapestry depicting Barnabus the Barmy teaching tolls to ballet. Rumor has it that a secret room would sometimes appear opposite the tapestry to those in need. Young Hermione didn’t think much about it; she was more fascinated about how the magical ceiling in the Great Hall worked or why Muggle electronic devices won’t function on school grounds. Discovering that the Chambers of Secret actually existed last year, and being alienated by her supposed best friends had her in a desperate search for the secret room. 

She walked into a circular space that was a combination of her living room and a library. A large recliner and a sofa surrounded a glass coffee table facing a grand fireplace instead of the TV set she had at home. The walls were covered from the ceiling to the floor with books both muggle and magical. She curled up in the recliner and pulled a duvet over herself, it smelled like the laundry detergent she uses back at home. Closing her eyes, she tried to let the quiet crackling of the fire fill her numb mind. When the tears started to fall, she didn’t even try to stop them.

She knew what to expect from Malfoy and the Slytherins. A Mudblood. That’s all she was and will ever be, despite that she was the top of her class and the brightest witch of her age. Mudblood. How she hated that word. She’s learned to deal with them though; every time they try to tear down her wall, she builds it back up, higher and stronger, until it is impenetrable by the snakes. Each time they throw the word in her face, Mudblood, she reminds them of her worth by besting them and outsmarting them at their own game. 

But her walls weren't as concrete as she thought—they currently lay in ruins, smashed by the two people she considered her best friends. Harry was angry at her because she went to McGonagall about the Firebolt. She knew it would upset him, but she would never forgive herself if something happened to him if the broom was cursed. He didn’t see it her way though. He believed she betrayed him and he could be particularly nasty when he wanted to be. Ron was beyond furious with her and murderous towards Crookshanks. He was convinced that her cat ate Scabbers. She asked for proof. He mentioned some blood on his bedsheets and his missing rat. She pointed out how his evidence was flimsy at best and proved nothing. He blew up as soon as her words left her mouth. She never expected him to use that word. Mudblood. Her walls crumbled. She left, refusing to cry in front of him. Yes, she could have handled the situation more delicately. But logically, she didn’t do anything wrong—Siris Black was out there looking to kill Harry, it made sense to have the broom examined for sabotage; Scabbers was missing but without a body and concrete evidence, all Ron had was hateful accusations. So why was she the only one at fault and the one receiving all of their anger? Eventually, the tears stopped but she was too exhausted to move. She curled up around herself more in the recliner and fell asleep, her fists clenched the duvet with desperation.

Hermione woke up slowly. Her neck and back protested when she shifted position. The clock sitting on top of the mantle of the fireplace told her it’s 5 in the morning. It was Saturday, no classes, no homework to do, no extracurricular activities to attend to, no reason to leave this chair. She covered her face with the duvet and willed herself to go back to sleep. Her stomach growled in displeasure, reminding her that she didn't have anything to eat since lunch yesterday. She ignored it.

A soft purring pulled her from her slumber 3 hours later. She glanced at the comfortable warm weight on her hip. Crooks looked back at her expectantly, demanding food. She sighed and finally moved from her safe haven. It was still early on the weekend, hopefully, most of the students would still be in their dorms. She didn’t want to interact with anyone right now. 

Her familiar meowed at her the whole trek down to breakfast trying to get her to walk faster. She tried, she really did but her body felt like lead and she couldn’t summon any energy besides the bare minimum. When she finally reached the Great Hall, she spotted Ginny at the Gryffindor table. Cursing under her breath, she lingered out of sight. Why couldn’t things just go smoothly for once? Sneak in, feed Crooks, go back to the Room. It was a simple plan. But the presence of the redhead complicated everything. Ginny was there when she and Ron had their screaming match and the redhead probably noticed the brunette never returned to her dorm last night. Ginny was a good friend and is always supportive; she knew that. But she really didn’t want to answer her questions or pretend everything was alright. 

Crookshanks meowed impatiently, looking up at her with big round eyes. Hermione sighed and picked up her grumpy cat. When she bent down, the gold chain around her neck slipped out of her robes. An idea popped into her mind. She slipped the chain around Crookshanks’s neck and flipped the Time-Turner 3 times. 

The Great Hall was completely empty now when she took a seat. Food appeared in front of her and Crooks munched on a piece of chicken happily. She stared blankly at her bowl of oatmeal; it was her favorite, blueberries and peaches with cream and a pinch of cinnamon. Her stomach growled again but she had no appetite. A furry head bumped her right hand, drawing her attention. The cat purred loudly and batted at her bowl, his intelligent yellow eyes never leaving hers. Hermione wanted to cry again but held back her tears. Instead, she dutifully picked up a spoon and took a few bites. 

Hermione strolled between the dusty shelves in the Room of Requirement. It was larger this time. Her recliner and the fireplace still existed in a small enclave close to the entrance, but hidden beyond that were rows and rows of bookshelves filled to the brink. She spent the past 2 hours perusing these shelves until her past self left with Crookshanks for breakfast. She really loved that cat. 

Upon returning to her seat, she noticed a small leather-bound book on the glass coffee table. There was no title that would give her a clue to its contents. Placing the books in her arm down, she picked it up. The magic of the room will provide her with what she needed; but what did she desire besides some peace and quiet? Better friends? She scoffed at herself. She loved her two idiot boys and she knew they loved her back. She would rebuild her walls. Then, whatever they were going through right now will pass and everything will go back to normal. She had to believe that. Besides, she really doubted a book or any spell would be able to fix that aspect of her life right now. So what is it that she desired? Whatever it was, the Room must have gifted her this book for a reason. She curled up in her recliner and started reading.

The book, if you could call it that—it seemed more like someone’s notebook, contained a miscellaneous of spells, rituals, and potions. While a spell that would enchant a bag to hold more than physically possible, a potion that would extend your senses, or a ritual that would allow your spirit to leave your physical body for a short period was interesting, she didn’t really have a use for them right now. The only thing that really caught her interest was the detailed process of becoming an animagus. Her mind always functioned better when it was focused on something—it allowed her to ignore the ever-present void that lingered in the periphery. Schoolwork was a nice distraction, but it was all too easy even with her extra courses. The long, tedious and meticulous process of becoming an animagus seemed like the perfect solution. She put the book down and stared into the fire. How was she going to break into Professor Snape’s storage this time?

Things got better. But at the same time, it didn’t. Third-year ended with the trio back as a united front facing down an escaped convict that was actually innocent, a pet rat that was actually a wizard, a professor that was actually a werewolf and a swarm of soul-sucking dementors. Fourth-year started out rocky with the whole ordeal at the Quidditch World Cup. When Harry got picked as the fourth champion, Hermione tried her best to balance between her two feuding friends despite herself. When Rita published her article, she spent a whole day soaring above the castle in her animagus form, a common kestrel. It was relaxing being able to escape from everything and just enjoy the wind in her feathers. It was freeing being able to enjoy the open air and not suffocate in her own mind. When the Yule Ball was upon them and Ron opened his stupid mouth, everything got too much again. 

_“Hermione, Neville’s right - you_ are _a girl...”_

How dare he? 

_“Well - you can come with one of us!”_

Who exactly did he think he was? 

_“No, you’re not! You just said that to get rid of Neville!”_

She wanted to punch him. What kind of person did he think she was? And the audacity to question her! What would she even gain from lying about something as trivial as this?

She felt her walls crack.

“You’re not good enough,” a voice whispered in her head. “You’re not wanted. You’re nothing but a last resort.”

A numbness washed over her. 

Ron grinned. His mouth moved but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Mudblood” echoed in her mind.

Her walls crumbled.

She fled.

She wanted to go to the owlery to transform and fly but her feet took her to the seventh floor instead. Her recliner and fireplace greeted her warmly. She wrapped herself in the blanket that smelled like home and sank into the chair. She felt the despair and the loneliness digging their claws in. She felt the void creeping in. She didn't do anything to stop them. She didn’t even have any energy to cry. 

Pretending she was fine was getting harder and harder. Fleur caught her zoning out multiple times and commented on how her eyes didn’t shine like they used to. Ginny could tell something was wrong but never pushed for information. Instead, Ginny kept her company by sitting with her in the Great Hall or in the common room. Once, the redhead called her brother a brainless, insensitive git and even apologized for him. Hermione smiled weakly and changed the topic. Crookshanks was worried too. He clung to her like a shadow, constantly showing affection and reminding her to eat. She kept up the facade for their sakes, not wanting to disappoint the few people that cared.

The ball passed in a blur—the bookworm had brew and taken an elixir to induce euphoria with the help of her small leather book. She danced the night away in the arms of the Beauxbatons’s Champion; the nervous jitters couldn’t dissuade her from coming out. She was happy; the darkness that plagued her mind couldn’t touch her. She felt invincible; all the jealous and dirty looks, the whispered insults behind her back and Ron’s puerile behavior couldn’t affect her mood. The night ended with a short but sweet kiss at the bottom of the marble staircase and the long climb up to her common room. 

If Ron was insufferable before, now he was outright agonizing to be around. He cornered her the next morning in the common room screaming blasphemy and questioning her loyalty to Harry. She looked at him with empty eyes. What’s the point of defending herself when she did nothing wrong? It would only agitate him more and she is so sick of this song and dance. Harry, looking uncomfortable, stood to the side and didn’t intervene. Ginny, being the great friend she was, got into her brother’s face and yelled back. Crookshanks, wanting to defend his witch, stood next to her feet with dilated eyes, arched back, flattened ears, and released a frightening hiss. She could feel everyone’s eyes on them. Maybe she should thank Ron for making a scene here instead of the Great Hall, she thought bleakly, who knows what the Slytherins would do if they could join in. She backed out the portrait hole without much resistance. Hermione hated the idea of abandoning her allies, but she really wasn’t in the right mindset to do anything else.

Flying did nothing to lighten her mood. Although, she did consider staying in her animagus form indefinitely; life would be so much simpler as a bird. When she returned to the Room of Requirement, she found her small leather book opened on the glass coffee table. Hermione approached it curiously, wondering how the Room was going to help her this time. Staring back at her on yellow pages was a ritual that will allow the caster to apparate to their soulmate’s side wherever they are and whenever they want to. The idea of having a soulmate intrigued her—a person that was meant for her, that would understand her and that would accept her unconditionally. But at the same time, the concept seemed too good to be true. And if life has taught her anything so far was that for every one good thing that happens, 10 bad things are waiting around the corner. Still, the Room had not disappointed her yet. Plus, she had nothing better to do until classes resumed.

Performing the ritual was simple enough; she prepared a potion, drew some runes on the floor, did some chanting, nicked her finger to drop some blood into the potion and drank it. The Gryffindor didn’t know what to expect exactly, but it was a surprise when nothing happened. She was still in the Room of Requirement and she felt absolutely the same as she did 5 minutes ago. Closing her eyes, she focused on the desire to meet her soulmate. Still nothing. Did the ritual fail? Was the whole thing a hoax? Or maybe she didn’t have a soulmate. She sighed. She knew it was all too good to be true, she thought bitterly. And if soulmates did exist, she was probably so undesirable the universe didn’t even bother to give her one. The setting around her changed and she found herself back in her small enclave. She plopped onto her recliner with another sigh. 

A second later, she jumped out of the chair and ran out of the room. How could she be so stupid? Hogwarts was surrounded by anti-apparition wards, she read about this in _Hogwarts: A History._ She threw open a nearby window and made sure no one was around. The next moment, she was soaring towards Hogsmead at full speed.

She landed behind the Shrieking Shack and made her way inside. The decrepit building looked exactly the same as she last saw it 6 months ago. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and closed her eyes. She wanted to meet her soulmate. She felt a harsh tugging sensation and disappeared with a crack.

A bout of nausea overcame Hermione as she emerged at her destination. Her knees and palms hit damp stone floors as she dry heaved and tried to breathe at the same time. This was worse than traveling via portkey. Then, an overwhelming cold descended upon her. She froze. She felt this depressing coldness before—a physical manifestation of the void in her head; it didn’t affect her as much as it did Harry or her schoolmates, but it still sent an unnerving chill down her spine. She looked around frantically. Stone walls surrounded her, a storm raged outside, relentless waves crashed against rocks, the presence of dementors… There was only one place she could be—Azkaban. She backed up against the iron door, a million questions ran through her mind.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here.” A high-pitched, honeyed voice spoke from the shadows. 

Wide eyes searched for the owner of the voice. Hermione opened her mouth but her brain and vocal cords were paralyzed with fear. 

“What’s wrong, dearie? Cat got your tongue?” Two feral eyes as black as a moonless night traveled up and down her body with a scrutinizing glare. “Tsk… I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave…” 

Brave, she never thought herself to be exceptionally brave—sure she had faced down a three-headed dog, survived an attack from a basilisk, and outsmarted a werewolf, but she knew Harry and Ron had her back then; right now, she was completely and utterly alone. So no, she was not brave; all she wanted to do was flee and pretend this was just a bad dream. 

“You know, it’s very rude to ignore someone talking to you, Kitten.” A smirk full of yellow, rotten teeth gleamed in the darkness. “Even if it is a nightmare.” 

“I…” What? How?

“ANSWER ME!” The figure lunged with an ugly snarl. Wild black hair framed a thin gaunt face. A ragged striped gown covered a skeletal frame. Twin chains attached to boney wrists were pulled taut, denying the woman the pleasure of tearing into her prey. 

She gasped in terror and in realization. Her soulmate was a Death Eater and not just any Death Eater, she was Voldemort’s right hand—“Bellatrix Lestrange,” she whispered under her breath.

Dark eyes narrowed, “I’m running out of patience if you know what’s good for you… _Soulmate_ or not.” The dark witch took a few steps back, allowing the chains to relax, and crossed her arm in front of her chest.

Hermione tilted her head to the side, curiosity momentarily overriding fear. How is she reading my mind?

“It’s called Legilimency, Kitten, and I’m not so much reading your mind when you are shamelessly shouting them at me,” Bellatrix explained with a face of utter boredom. She wasn’t even looking at the young witch anymore as she picked at her fingernails. 

Legilimency?

Bellatrix let out a long exasperating sigh, “does Hogwarts teach you nothing, girl? Or am I to believe my _soulmate_ is as sharp as a bag of rocks?”

The young Gryffindor bristled at that comment, “I’ll have you know I’m at the top of my class and considered the brightest witch of my age!” She pronounced proudly with a straight back and raised chin.

Dark chuckles echoed in the small cell. “She speaks at last! You had me worried for a second—I would have to kill you if you are anything but perfect and being dumb would definitely not be acceptable.” Bored eyes turned hungry again. “Now, who are you? And more importantly… How did you break into Azkaban?”

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to rein in her thoughts and not ‘shout’ them. If being ‘dumb’ was a killable offensive, she’d hate to know what would happen if the dark witch found out about her blood status. She opened her eyes, regaining her composure. Honesty was the best policy but so was the omission of some ‘minor’ details. “I performed a ritual… and it… it brought me here.”

“What ritual?” 

“I don’t know the name of it. I found it in a book. It’s supposed to let the caster apparate to their soulmate’s side.”

“Is that so?” Dark eyes narrowed again, “I’ve never heard about such a ritual,” she bared her teeth in an intimidating smile, “if I find out you are lying…”

“I’m not! I swear!” Hermione interjected quickly.

“In that case,” Bellatrix pouted, “am I ever going to learn my soulmate’s name?” 

Hermione shook her head in shock at the display; if it weren’t for the skeletal, malnourished features, it would have been adorable. How did she flip between a feral panther and a house cat so effortlessly?

“My name...”

Someone or something released an inhumane screech, drawing both witches’ attention. Bellatrix cackled madly as the coldness around them intensified. “Tick, tock, lil’ kitten. Big, bad dementors are comin’...” the dark witch started singing with childish-glee.

Brown eyes dashed towards the barred window. 

“Are you trapped with me in this hellhole of a prison? Or do you have a way of escapin’?”

Hermione watched the mad witch skip and clap her hands in delight as she changed into a bird.

More people started screaming. “Hurry, lil’ hawkling. Fly, before they come searchin’.”

And she did. She squeezed through the bars easily with her smaller form and took flight into the storm. Bellatrix’s mad cackle continued to ring in her ears.

Hermione managed to fly back to the mainland and took the Knight Bus back to Hogsmead. Ginny ambushed her as soon as she stepped through the portrait hole demanding where she’s been for the past 4 days. Four days, has it really been that long? It only felt like 2 since she walked out the day after Christmas. She smiled apologetically at her worried friend. Ginny didn’t let the brunette out of her sight until classes started again.

The young Griffindor was not happy about being tricked into becoming bait for Fleur during the second task, but her irritation evaporated when Harry tied for first-place due to his great moral fibre. She celebrated with her housemates. Ginny stayed by her side the entire night. Harry mumbled something like an apology for not stepping in when Ron was obviously out of line. She forgave Harry but avoided Ron like the plague.

During her free time when she is not accompanied by Ginny, which was few and far between since her disappearing act, she dug up all she could about Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black. The bookworm had already done some preliminary research on Azkaban and its inmates after freeing Sirius last summer. Now, she wanted to know everything she could about her soulmate. Pure-blood directories, newspaper clippings, gossip magazines, school records, she left no stone unturned. She set up a bulletin board in the Room of Requirement that displayed her findings. Much to Hermione’s dismay, she couldn’t find much about her childhood. School records told her of a troubled child, bright beyond her age but prone to anger and tended to solve problems with her fist as much as her wand. A wedding announcement between Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange was released in the paper before her graduation in 1970. Everything after that was Death Eater related. Hermione cried when she found out about Neville’s parents. How was this pure-blood fanatic, this lunatic that has tortured and murdered her other half? She leaned back in her recliner and scowled at the room. This was definitely NOT what she needed. The room ignored her.

As it turned out, having a Death Eater as a soulmate was only a part of her worries. On the night of the third trial, Harry and Cedric entered the maze together, but only Harry came back out alive. Voldemort was back. 

During the confusion, Hermione slipped away from the stands. She had a sudden pressing urge to see her soulmate—Bellatrix was extremely distressed; she didn’t know how she knew that, but she did.

Azkaban was ringing with insane shouts and laughter when she arrived. A couple of voices were chanting “He’s back” over and over again at the top of their lungs. Hermione found Bellatrix curled in a fetal position cradling her left arm. For someone who claimed to be Voldemort’s most loyal follower, she wasn’t exactly jumping with joy like the others. “Bellatrix?” 

The dark witch stirred slightly but didn’t respond. 

She took a tentative step forward. “Bellatrix, are you alright?”

Bellatrix shook her head with vigor like an upset child. 

“What wrong?”

“He’s back,” she whispered, her voice trembled with… fear?

“Who’s back?” Hermione moved closer, she didn’t like seeing the dark witch so broken and in distraught.

The young Gryffindor jumped back slightly when Bellatrix shoved her left arm towards her with an angry hiss, “Him!” A black tattoo of a skull and a snake slithering out of its mouth glistened on pale white skin. Dark feral eyes glared at the Mark with hatred. “He’s back!”

“I thought you would be happy with him being back...”

“Happy?!” Bellatrix jumped up and towered over the other witch, “I was happy when Andy and her daughter were safe! I was happy when Cissy and her son were out of harm’s way!” She picked up something and threw it at the wall away from Hermione. 

Hermione flinched as the thing shattered. 

Bellatrix then visibly deflated and sank back down to the floor, “what if I’m not able to keep them safe this time?” 

The young witch didn’t know what to say or do. All of her research did not prepare her for this. What happened to the larger than life Death Eater that killed and tortured without hesitation? The witch before her looked nothing like the most wanted posters or the mugshots that lined her bulletin board. Who was this broken soul that put her sisters’ family before herself?

Hermione sat down next to her soulmate and offered a hand. After a few long awkward minutes, a bony hand slipped into hers. The young Gryffindor laced their fingers together and gave a comforting squeeze. There was more to the story of Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, that much was obvious. Maybe... she wasn’t that... bad. Maybe... they could work something out. Maybe...

“Thank you, hawkling.”

Hermione almost didn’t catch the soft whisper. She smiled.

“You’re welcome, Bella.”


	2. Chapter 2

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… turn.

Heavy chains rattled on the stone floor.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… turn.

She walked past the barred hole in the wall that passed as a window. Cold wind and chilling rain assaulted her and her little cell endlessly.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… turn.

It was nighttime—at least that was what she was told (time didn’t hold much meaning in Azkaban)—but she couldn’t sleep. The Dark Lord was back and while she knew his return was inevitable, she had hoped she was wrong. But the dark mark didn’t lie; it faded with his defeat however long ago and it burned itself onto her arm again when he returned. 

1… 2… 3… stop.

Bellatrix stared at the space where a young, bushy-haired brunette wearing Gryffindor colors tended to appear when visiting. Hawkling was a surprise (a hallucination). But then the girl started shouting thoughts at her (thoughts she knew belonged to no one in her head). She peeked into the girl’s mind—petrichor and chocolate with a light hint of mint filled her nostrils. She saw a library, ancient yet modern, but also so very empty (a strong sense of isolation buried deeply into her chest). Bellatrix knew then that this girl was someone special. She was not shocked when the word “soulmate” was uttered wordlessly.

Bellatrix desperately wanted to know more about her soulmate but Hawkling was very tight-lipped—not willing to give away anything too personal and always very careful with everything she says. If Bellatrix had to guess, she would say Hawkling was a mudblood; she didn’t have the mannerisms of a pureblood and the way she danced around certain topics was very telling. If that was the case, Bellatrix couldn’t really fault the girl for being cautious, especially in front of a notorious Death Eater (like her). 

Truth be told, Bellatrix couldn’t care less about the girl’s blood. The Dark Lord flaunted that rhetoric and her parents tried to beat that ideology into her and her sisters at an early age. But what’s the point of blood purity when the result was a bunch of bumptious buffoons that relied more on their family name rather than their ability to hold a wand? 

No. 

Bellatrix didn’t care about blood. She cared about power and Hawkling had already proven herself worthy. Not only was she an animagus, she could also apparate into one of the most heavily guarded locations in Wizarding Britain. And, if she was to be believed, Hawkling was the brightest of her age. To Bellatrix, it made perfect sense for the two brightest witches of their respective ages to be bonded to each other—she would not tolerate anything less than perfect after all!

4… 5… turn. 1… 2...

Speaking of Hawkling, she was due to visit again soon. At least that’s what Bellatrix hoped. She enjoyed the visits. The girl was good company even though she was way too skittish and obviously terrified of Bellatrix. 

Tsk. 

She would have to correct that. 

Soon.

Hawkling settled down in her usual corner close to the window while Bellatrix sat crossed-legged on her cot. Bellatrix could feel the girl’s amused gaze directed at her, but she was far too busy tearing into a chocolate frog to care. The frog tried to escape earlier so Bellatrix had to show it why she was so feared on the battlefield. The “duel” only lasted a second. Her opponent surrendered after an arm was torn off. She tore off another limb (she will save the best—the head—for last).

The image of an orange, flat-faced mop with a tail entered her mind. She watched the hideous beast pounce on a mouse and prance around with pride. Bellatrix then saw herself pouncing on her prey and strutting in a similar fashion. She took a deep breath, savoring a refreshing wave of mint, before releasing a throaty chuckle. 

“I think I would make a great cat. They are, after all, nature’s best predator with a license to kill.” Bellatrix showed off her trademark predatory grin to emphasize her point.

Hawkling scowled at her softly. All hints of mint disappeared as a barrier was formed between them. Bellatrix gently tested the strength of the girl’s Occlumency shield and gave a silent approval. 

“Stop reading my thoughts.”

“I can’t. You make it too easy.” Bellatrix ripped another limb off. “Your shields have improved. You can now defend yourself against all the bumbling simpletons you go to school with.”

Hawkling rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless, “thank you.”

Hawkling had a beautiful smile but Bellatrix had a vague sense that she didn’t smile often. There were too many empty seats in the library. Too many dark corners where light didn’t reach. Behind those warm honey-brown eyes, she could see pain artfully hidden in plain sight. Bellatrix wanted to fix that. 

But first… 

“Are you ever going to tell me anything important, Hawkling? Like I don’t know… your name?” Bellatrix asked before biting the head off the chocolate frog. “You can’t keep avoiding it. And I have been so very patient.” She couldn’t keep the dangerous gleam out of her eyes.

Hawkling shifted nervously, but to Bellatrix’s great pleasure, stood her ground. “I’m surprised you haven’t used legilimency to go rummaging around my head yet.” 

Bellatrix snorted, “I would if I could.”

The girl looked at her curiously, urging her to elaborate.

Bellatrix sighed dramatically. “I’m currently too weak to do more than a quick scan. I’m not kidding when I say you shout your thoughts at me.” It wasn’t the full truth, but she didn’t feel like lecturing about the nature of soul bounds right now (the girl can figure it out herself later). “Now… back to my original question…” 

Hawkling fidgeted in her spot, her brown eyes darted to every corner of the tiny cell and refused to land on her. Bellatrix didn’t need their bond or legilimency to know that the girl was overworking that pretty head of hers. Curiosity burnt bright and hot but as a show of good faith, she opted to not listen in. 

Finally, what felt like hours, the girl stood up tall with determination sparkling in her eyes. She gripped her wand tightly by her side. When she spoke, her voice trembled only slightly. “Bellatrix—” black eyes watched her curiously. “—my name is Hermione Granger and I’m a Muggleborn.”

Bellatrix let out a throaty laugh—she was right! Her soulmate was a mudblood. She delighted in the knowledge that her parents must be rolling in their graves right now! Oh, how the most ancient and noble house of Black had fallen. It would be hilarious if it wasn’t so tragic! She couldn’t wait to tell Andy!

A sudden chill ran down her spine and dread settled in her chest. Bellatrix bristled and glanced at the closed door. She relaxed when she found no traces of dementors; the feelings, however, remained. She turned towards the most likely source of her sudden lapse of terror. Hawkling looked like she was about to faint in any second—the girl was hyperventilating and white as a ghost. Damn it, Hawkling must think she was laughing at her!

Bellatrix stood up slowly and smoothly but not quite sure what she should do—calming frightened critters was more of Andy’s forte. 

Hawkling’s wand arm jerked up but her wand slipped through her fingers and clattered on the stone floor. Brown eyes widened comically before slamming shut. The brave Gryffindor was brave no longer it seems.

The scent of petrichor, chocolate, and mint intensified in Bellatrix’s nostrils while the fear that was not her own became overwhelming powerful. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack, Hawkling,” she said as gently as possible. Bellatrix closed her own eyes and reached out with her mind. The library greeted her warmly like last time, but an unmistakable oppressive chill hung in the air.  _ Breathe. _

The girl released a shaky breath. 

_ There you go. Just breathe.  _

Gradually. Very gradually, she could feel the girl’s breathing returning to normal. 

The same could not be said for Bellatrix. The strain of maintaining the connection was chipping away at her already weakened state. She leaned against a bookshelf to steady herself.

_ Open your eyes. _

Reluctance hung in the air. Hawkling was a stubborn one, that’s for sure. 

_ Hermione, I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.  _

Abruptly, Bellatrix staggered backward, physically and mentally. Humid, moldy, salty air returned in full force. She hit the edge of her cot and fell on her ass ungracefully (thankfully no one was present to witness it). She sighed at her own incompetence.

Hawkling swayed slightly before opening her eyes. Confused brown eyes sought out tired black ones.

“Feel better?”

Hawkling nodded.

“You’re probably not going to believe me, but I don’t actually have a problem with mud… muggleborns.”

The girl looked at her like she grew another head. “But… You’re a Death Eater.”

“She finally talks and it’s to state the obvious,” Bellatrix huffed. She folded her arms in front of her chest. “I have my reasons for following the Dark Lord but blood purity isn’t one of them. If you don’t believe me, you can go talk to my sister.”

Hawkling had that look on her face that meant she was preparing to bombard her with a million questions. Bellatrix, however, was in no mood to answer them so she did the most logical thing: she laid down on her tiny cot and turned away from the girl. Hawkling was in no danger of another heart attack and Bellatrix said all she needed to say (for now). She closed her eyes in exhaustion. What happened next is up to the bewildered mudblood standing in her cell. She was going to take a nap.

Bellatrix shot up in her cot, black eyes scanned her surroundings. There was nothing amiss in her tiny cell, but something woke her. She glanced at the corner. Hawkling hadn’t visited in a while. Had it been a day or a week? She didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Once Hawkling talked to Andy, she will understand and return. Bellatrix just had to be patient. 

Ugh.

Someone in the lower levels released a high pitched scream. Bellatrix looked up from the rough lines she was carving into the stone wall and chuckled darkly. There was one good thing about the Dark Lord’s return—the dementors don’t visit her and her fellow Death Eaters anymore. It meant the Dark Lord was regaining his power. It meant she was leaving this godforsaken cell soon. She’s been holed up in this pitiful hole for far too long. She couldn’t wait to be reunited with her wand—to embrace the destructive beauty of magic, to be the center of a ravaging tempest. Just thinking about the pain and devastation she would be raining down soon brought upon a devious smirk.

Bellatrix picked at her nails in annoyance. For whatever reason (that had nothing to do with herself… she’s sure of it!), Hawkling had been a nervous wreck the past few… hours? days? She shook her head. How long it had been was not important. The important part was Hawkling needed to learn how to shield her mind better, and whoever or whatever that was causing her soulmate distress needed to be punished or eliminated! She preferred the latter. 

A cloudless moonlit night was a rare sight—the only beauty in this godforsaken world. It reminded her of simpler times—no dark lords or wars, just her and her sisters. She remembered sneaking out of the manor hand in hand with a small Andy and a tiny Cissa on her back under the cover of darkness. It was the perfect act of defiance—to shed the identity given to them by their parents and be whatever they wanted to be. Bella would pick a random direction and they would go on an adventure exploring the expansive grounds surrounding Black Manor. Cissa would always fall asleep on her back. Andy, always too curious for her own good, had the habit of wandering off to follow whatever caught her interest. More often than not, she would find herself in harm's way but Bella would always be there to save her—Bella was her sisters’ keeper after all and that wouldn’t change for the world. They would always be back in their beds before dawn. In the morning, they were the perfect pureblood daughters once more. 

She hoped they were both keeping their heads down. She knew Andy’s mudblood was smart enough to stay out of trouble but Cissa’s blonde idiot tended to do the opposite. She didn’t know what her baby sister saw in the preening peacock whose squawk was worse than his peck (Cissa actually liked him for some reason) but for an arranged marriage, he wasn’t the worst (a bout of nausea hit her along with the mere thought of her useless husband). She hoped the peacock would at least wait until she was out to do anything too damaging or stupid, or most likely, both.

As the moon disappeared from her small window, a wave of loneliness washed away her nostalgia. How long had it been since she last laid eyes upon them? When was the last time she got drunk with them during their secret gatherings? Did they continue the tradition without her? A part of her, the selfish part, hoped they didn’t—that they stopped because her absence was too jarring to ignore. But the other part, the part that repeatedly reminded herself why she did what she did, hoped they kept up with the meetings—that the Black Sisters remained as a unified unit with or without her.

Light, first a soft orange, then a brilliant red, entered her cell. She glanced at Hawkling’s corner. Carved into the grey stone was a crude image of a bird with its wings outspread and a pair of entwined serpents underneath. Bellatrix smiled (a true smile, not a smirk, nor a grin, an actual smile). 

Soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Jumping out of an open window never felt more freeing. Hermione let gravity overtake her small avian frame. Wind rushed against her feathers, carrying away all the frustration and anxiety that accumulated the past week. 

Grimmauld Place was, in her opinion and she’s sure Sirius would agree with her, hell. She had no time and no space for herself—Mrs. Weasley’s overbearing nature was suffocating. And worst of all, there was an entire library she could not touch! Something about the books being cursed and only Blacks were permitted to touch them. Hermione seriously considered asking Bellatrix for a counter curse but decided against it—best not accidentally reveal the Order’s headquarters.

Hermione opened her wings and pulled out of the dive. She gained altitude quickly with a couple of powerful flaps and relaxed as an air current carried her towards her destination.

Speaking of Bellatrix, Hermione couldn’t wait to see her again—something about being in the same room as the dark witch was very comforting. She still wasn’t fully trusting of said witch even though Andromeda had all but performed the unbreakable vow to ensure Hermione that Bellatrix’s words were genuine. 

After an awkward start and a tense interrogation, the middle Black sister was very enthusiastic in telling her side of the story. It completely contradicted the picture Sirius had painted of his cousins. The estranged sister was only estranged in name—the other two never abandoned their exiled kin. In fact, Bellatrix was the one to suggest exiling Andromeda to protect her. In the end, it was enough to curb their father’s wrath and Andromeda was freed. The three sisters continued to meet up in secret unbeknownst to their family or their respective sides of the war. Andromeda was very forthcoming with information but refused to delve into anything too personal about Bellatrix—like why the elder Black joined the Death Eaters. Hermione would have to get that straight from the witch’s mouth.

Hermione spotted the distinct silhouette of the Shrieking Shack under a waxing crescent. She landed delicately on the shamble roof and started to preen her feathers. She took her time making sure she was presentable—she wanted to look her best for her soulmate after all. Feeling completely rejuvenated, she closed her eyes and disappeared with a pop.

The kestrel reappeared perching on the ledge of the barred window. She released a series of excited Klees and waited for the annoyed grunt that invited her in. Once back in her human form and sitting in her usual corner, she released a sigh. Stange how, she felt more at ease in a cell in Azkaban with a Death Eater than in the Order’s headquarters surrounded by people she considered family. She chuckled at the thought. Looking up, she met a pair of black eyes watching through a curtain of unwieldy hair. 

“Sorry I haven’t been able to visit...”

“Why have you been so stressed?” Bellatrix cut her off abruptly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Who do I have to kill after I get out of here?”

“Wait,” Hermione panicked, “who said anything about killing?”

“Someone was causing my little bonded distress!” Bellatrix raised to her tallest and tilted her chin up menacingly, “I cannot let anyone think they can get away with that!”

Hermione blinked, trying to understand what was happening. The dark witch stood proudly in the middle of the dark cell—power radiated off of her like a tidal wave. The scent of coffee with a hint of cinnamon and burning firewood washed over her. Hermione shivered underneath her magic. It was foreign, cold, and dangerous—there was no doubt why Bellatrix was such a feared warrior during the first war. But at the same time, it was familiar, calming, and warming—a safe haven she didn’t know existed until recently. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scents greedily.

“You’re thinking too hard, Hawkling,” Bellatrix tutted. The dark witch looked bored again as she pulled and tugged at her wild mane.

Hermione took a few more breaths, trying to sort out her conflicting emotions. On one hand, she was appalled by Bellatrix’s disregard for human lives. She did not condone killing for any reason or the idea of murdering her problems away. On the other hand, she was flattered that the dark witch was ready to avenge her when they barely knew each other. She was unfamiliar with this kind of raw sincerity and she was definitely not expecting it from Voldemort’s right hand. Her thoughts suddenly drifted to the boys—her friends that she has fought alongside for 4 years, the two people she continued to risk her life for—even they hadn’t displayed such unwavering devotion. “Seriously, it’s really not that difficult. Just give me a name and they will never bother you again.”

And here Bellatrix made it seem like it was the simplest thing in the world. A small smile tugged at her lips. Hermione took a few careful steps towards the towering witch. 

Bellatrix eyed her suspiciously.

Hermione slowly wrapped her arms around the dark witch. “Thank you,” Hermione whispered, “thank you for wanting to look out for me, but you can’t kill someone just because they upset me.”

“And why not?” Bellatrix asked stiffly.

Hermione pulled away slightly to look up at Bellatrix’s face, “murder is not the answer to everything.”

“Pfft, morality can only take you so far in life, little Hawkling.” The dark witch stepped out of the embrace, “trust me, I know.” 

Coffee and firewood faded as Bellatrix moved away. Hermione took a step forward, wanting to chase the fading fragrance. A dangerous gleam stopped her mid-step.

“How about a compromise? If you insist on protecting these… imbeciles,” Bellatrix spat out the last word, “then I insist that you work on your Occlumency!”

Hermione answered with confusion at the sudden change in subject, “but I already know Occlumency.”

“Knowing is not enough! You need to live it!” Darkness fell over her features, “master legilimens like the Dark Lord and Dumbledore don’t ask before invading your mind and they do it so seamlessly you don’t even notice it.”

“But… but that’s illegal!”

“You really think they give a rat’s ass?” Bellatrix screamed. 

Hermione stumbled backward, startled. Feral dark eyes pinned her against the cold stone wall. Clenched teeth snarled dangerously and white fists were shaking with furry. Hermione wondered what had happened in the past to create such a reaction. 

“Dumbledore might look like a friendly old fool but he’s a manipulative bastard just like the Dark Lord—people are nothing but pawns in their game of chess. Morality doesn’t win wars, Hawkling, schemes do. Do yourself a favor and never trust a thing the old goat says or does!” Bellatrix’s eyes softened. “No one can know of our bond. It would be too dangerous.”

Hermione nodded stiffly.

“Practice your Occlumency and always keep your shields up. I would hate to lose you before I properly get to know you, Hawkling,” Bellatrix whispered with a hint of affection.

A small smile tugged at Hermione’s lips. “I would hate to lose you, too,” she whispered back.

Hermione sat curled up in an armchair while enjoying the warmth from a dying fire. Crookshanks slept peacefully next to her. Bright golden rays lit up the room slowly with the rising sun. Any minute now, students old and new will be coming down from their dorms to break the peaceful serenity around her. She closed her eyes and cleared her mind. 

Occlumency came to her easily. It could be because she was good at compartmentalizing or because she was so used to building up her mental walls. She took a deep breath. If she focused hard enough, she could almost taste the distinct scent of coffee, cinnamon, and firewood around her. 

A hand touched her shoulder. Hermione opened her eyes to see Ginny looking at her worryingly. She gave Ginny her best smile, reassuring her friend that nothing was amiss. Ginny smiled back at her and they walked down to the Great Hall together. 


End file.
